


Flowers

by luthor_pendragon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blossoming relationship, Drug Abuse - Morphine, F/M, Forbidden Love, Heartache, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:13:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2621282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luthor_pendragon/pseuds/luthor_pendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets high and someone very special comes to the rescue, in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers

_Hey. Care to dance? – SH_

“Oh, Sherlock, not again.” She climbed into her car and backed out. It was a four hour drive to Westminster. Good thing she lived alone. No one would miss her.

A short, older woman answered the bell at 221 Baker Street. “Hello, dear. Can I help you?”

She sighed. “Hello, Mrs. Hudson. Is Sherlock home?”

“Yes, he’s upstairs,” she pointed nervously. Clearly she did not know who this was.

“Thank you.” The younger woman pushed past the older and bounded up the stairs. She knocked on Suite B.

The answering deep voice lolled slowly, uncomprehendingly. “Mm, huh, oh, yeah, come in.”

She entered and frowned down at the man in the very rectangular chair. His long limbs were splayed out in every direction, an IV drip hooked to his arm. The dark curls hung over the back lazily. Cloudy eyes drifted over to her.

“Sammy,” he tried to stand up, but couldn’t. “What - what are you doing here?” he slurred.

Samantha held up her phone. “You texted me. Honestly, I don’t know why I even bother coming anymore.” She walked over and disconnected the drip. The bag was labeled _morphine_.

“Hey,” came the unimpressive protest. “Wasn’t finished with that.” Sherlock tried reaching for the bag but she easily got out of his reach.

“Yes, you are.” She put the bag down and went into the kitchen to brew some tea. “You’ve been stealing from Bart’s again, haven’t you?”

“Just one or two little things,” he giggled. “For my experiments.”

“ _Experiments._ Right.”

Mrs. Hudson came upstairs to see what was going on. She was followed closely by a short, blond man who had clearly just gotten off work.

“Ah, Hudders. Come to take care of the freak, have you?” Sherlock laughed maniacally from his chair. “And John, a pleasure, as always, to see you.”

“To see me? I live here, you idiot.”

“Statement still stands.”

“Sherlock,” asked Mrs. Hudson, “who was that young lady at the door?”

“Young lady?” John looked at his friend.

“Hmm? What?” The lanky man had clearly forgotten what had happened over the last few minutes. His eyes glazed over and he appeared to be sleeping with them open.

“Morphine, John.”

The doctor snapped around to see an unfamiliar person coming out of his kitchen carrying a tea tray. “What?”

“On the desk. He got into the supply closet again. You really ought to watch him more carefully.” She handed out mugs to everyone. John and Mrs. Hudson took theirs gratefully, whereas Sherlock had to be convinced of the actual existence of tea before he would take the cup.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“That’ssshh, that’sh, uh, um,” Sherlock snapped his fingers, looking for a coherent answer.

“Shut up, Sherlock.” The young woman held out her hand to the shorter man, who shook it. “Samantha Benton, Sherlock’s cousin, on his mother’s side.”

“That’s it!” cried Sherlock a little too excitedly. “This is my lovely cousin, Sammy. She’s the dumb one.” He giggled again.

Samantha rolled her eyes. “We’ve been over this. You only think I’m the dumb one because I have the sense not to be an obnoxious dick all the time.”

“Nuh-uh,” he stuck out his tongue childishly. “You’re always a dick to me.”

“Turnabout’s fair play, dear cousin,” she smiled at him sweetly. Sickeningly sweet.

He stuck his tongue out at her again.

John finally remembered himself. He offered the couch. “Please, sit down. I’m –“

“Captain John Hamish Watson of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers. Yes, I know all about you. Sit,” she waved towards the other chair as she sat. “Sherlock and Mycroft have told me enough to write a dozen books.”

“That’s encouraging,” he grumbled. Sitting in his chair, he looked across at Sherlock, who was staring intently into his mug like it held the secrets of the universe.

Mrs. Hudson sat down next to Samantha. “How come I’ve never heard of you, dear?”

“Oh, Sherlock knows I like my privacy. Not even Mycroft dares to spy on me.”

John cocked an eyebrow at this. “Think that highly of ourselves do we? You must be a Holmes.”

“Benton,” she corrected. “’Holmes’ is my aunt’s married name.”

“Sammy,” Sherlock whined, “you know I don’t like loose leaf tea.”

“Well, you’re just gonna have to accept it. That’s all I could find.”

“That’s because John hasn’t done the shopping yet today,” he grumped. He folded up his long legs and crossed his arms over his chest, looking like a four-year-old.

“I’ve only just gotten home,” rebutted the doctor.

“Not my fault.”

“Sherlock,” tried Mrs. Hudson.

Samantha waved a hand nonchalantly. “Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s always like this.”

“Like what?” inquired John.

“I figured you’d have noticed by now, you being a doctor and all.” She took a quiet drink from her tea, downing half the mug. It was a solid minute before anyone spoke. Sam noticed John staring at her expectantly. “Jesus, Sherlock, he really is dull, isn’t he?”

Sherlock nodded, the corner of his mouth quirking up. John looked affronted.

“Cute, though,” she added casually. Her cousin just nodded again. Samantha sighed. “He’s a drug addict. I take it there haven’t been many cases lately.”

Sherlock growled from his chair.

“A drug problem? Seriously? I mean, I’ve seen him doing experiments with various narcotics, but I’ve never actually seen him _use_ them before.”

“Why do you think he’s always working? Minds like ours; if we don’t keep them busy, they turn towards… other things.” She finished her tea.

“Bored!” Sherlock suddenly yelled. His head flopped back over the chair.

“We get it, you’re bored. But that’s no reason to get high. Do I need to call Greg again?”

“Who?” Sherlock cocked his head at his cousin.

She leaned forward on her knees, cup forgotten on the coffee table. Her fingers curled together in front of her face. Now John could see the family resemblance, though she looked more like Mycroft than Sherlock. “Never mind. You just sit there and sober up.”

John was still confused as to the existence of this new person. “How did you know he was like this?”

She eyed him. “He always texts me when he gets high. Mycroft won’t help him anymore. As long as his brother stays inside and doesn’t cause trouble, and only does enough to get himself loopy, but not overdose, he doesn’t care what Sherlock gets up to in his free time.”

“Now I know that’s not true,” John commented as he put his cup on the table beside his chair.

“Oh?”

“The first time I met him, Mycroft tried bribing me to bring him information on Sherlock, saying he was concerned. It was understandable once I learned they were brothers.”

“Yes, I suppose that to the commonfolk, they wouldn’t appear to be so, but they are far more similar than either cares to admit.” She finally relaxed and lay herself back against the couch. Her fingers tapped out a rhythm on the back. It was familiar to John, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Sherlock glared at her, venom in his eyes. Poor Mrs. Hudson was too flustered to do anything but sit there and sip her tea. Her eyes kept shifting nervously between the other three. John just looked insulted, as he always did when Sherlock made cracks about his “apparently” inferior intelligence. He wanted to get up and storm off, like he usually did. He started to shift his weight in preparation of rising.

“Oh, sit down, John, I didn’t mean anything by it. I only meant that to the common passerby, there is nothing similar, in either appearance or body language that would indicate that they were related. I didn’t mean to insult your intellect, since you’re feeling that way.”

“Told you she was the dumb one,” smiled Sherlock.

“I’m not the dumb one. I’m the nice one.” She threw a pillow at her cousin’s head. He actually tried to avoid it, though he failed. “Good, you’re coming down. Finish your tea.” Sherlock reluctantly obeyed.

An hour passed and the detective slowly emerged from his morphine-induced conscious coma. The lower he got, the antsier he got. “John, please tell me you’ve got a case for me.”

“I’m looking, Sherlock.” The doctor scrolled his computer screen. But it was getting late, and his stomach was rumbling. He’d been too worried about his friend to bother doing the shopping. “There doesn’t seem to be anything.”

“Perhaps you should go and get us some dinner.” The young woman had remained on the sofa all this time, watching the two men. Mrs. Hudson had long since returned to her flat.

John looked up. His blue eyes met Samantha’s brown ones. “Uh, yeah, I suppose so.” He got up and slipped on his black jacket. “Would you like to join me?” he offered.

Samantha shook her head. “No, you go on ahead. Sherlock still needs somebody to watch him. Next time, perhaps.”

John was disappointed. “Oh, ok.” He turned and walked out the door.

Sherlock watched out the window as his friend hailed a cab. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?” Samantha dug around in the couch cushions next to her. “Ah, here.” She tossed her cousin the pack of cigarettes the good doctor had yet again tried to hide.

“Turn him down like that. I’m fine. You know I am.” He lit a smoke and took a grateful drag.

“Yes, but he was flirting with me, Sherlock.”

“So? He flirts with most women he meets.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Are you saying you don’t want me to back off? I saw the way you looked at him when he wasn’t looking.” She came over and stole a cigarette from him.

Sherlock sighed. “That obvious, was it?”

She lit up, thinking for a moment. “To me, yes. To your brother, of course. To the average person; that is to say, a person that doesn’t know you, no. You do well at hiding it. I don’t think even John knows.”

“Even if he did, he wouldn’t do anything. I can’t tell you how big of a fuss he raises when somebody thinks we’re together.” He tapped the ash off out the window.

“And you? What do you say?”

“I never say anything.”

“Has he noticed that you don’t?” She slipped an arm around her cousin’s back and laid her head against his shoulder.

He wrapped his arm across her shoulders. Taking a puff, he looked up into what little stars he could see above the rooftops. “I don’t think he has. He often complains, but I never respond.”

A few, comfortable, silent minutes passed. “I thought you quit smoking.” She knocked off her ash and looked up at him.

He smiled down at her. “You know I didn’t.”

John came home to the sound of the violin being played. It was the same tune that Samantha had been tapping out on the couch earlier. He climbed the stairs, bags of takeaway in either hand. As he approached the door, he heard giggling coming from the other side. A deep chuckling that he knew to be Sherlock and a medium twittering he could only assume was Samantha. He slipped sideways into the kitchen and deposited the goods on the counter, which was actually free of lab equipment for once. Then he walked into the sitting room.

The cousins had moved some of the furniture towards the walls and were dancing in the middle of the room. The stereo played a violin recording, which John finally recognized as one of Sherlock’s compositions. One he had titled “Flowers”. John had asked him why at the time, but he was never given an answer.

Sherlock paused and gave a big sniff. “Ah, John,” he opened his eyes, “you got Chinese. Excellent.” He pushed Samantha away from him and towards the other man. “You two dance, I’ll serve up.”

Sam grabbed the doctor’s arms and spun him around to the beat of the violin. “What’s gotten into him?”

“Oh, nothing. He just needed a bit of cheering up, that’s all. It’s not just boredom that pushes him to the drugs, you know. It’s also loneliness.” She took John’s hand and began twirling him.

“I heard that,” the detective called from the kitchen.

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” she sassed back.

John dipped Samantha. “Why would he be lonely? He doesn’t feel things like normal humans do.”

She looked up at him, head cocked to the side. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Shut up, both of you.” Sherlock strode in carrying food for himself and the other two. “Now sit.” He handed each of them a bowl before plopping down on the floor in front of the coffee table.

They got up and joined him.

“So how old are you?” asked John, changing the subject.

“Just a couple years younger than Sherlock.” She playfully jostled the tall man with her shoulder. He responded by elbowing her in the boob.

“Ouch! Damn you and all your damn skinniness.” She slurped on some noodles.

“Kiss my arse,” he responded.

Her eyes drifted to the floor behind him. “What arse? I’m pretty sure your pelvis is just sitting on some wooden planks there.”

“I do too have an arse. And it happens to look smashing in my suit trousers. John, tell her.”

The doctor choked on his food. He banged on his chest with a fist as he got his breath back. Panting, he stared at the two others, looking nervous, maybe even a little scared.

Sam and Sherlock just fell over, laughing.

After a moment, Samantha hit her cousin lightly in the chest. “What – ha ha – whatever happened to that – hee hee – that purple silk shirt Auntie bought you?”

“Are you kidding? I wear it quite often.” Sherlock caught his breath and sat back up.

Sam smiled, looking up at the ceiling. “That fond of your mother?”

The multi-colored eyes looked down at her. “Well, yes, but it’s also John’s favorite.”

She smiled. “I see.”

“Of course you do.” He nodded and went about finishing his meal.

The shorter man just sat there, dumbstruck, on the other side of the table. He didn’t know whether to be offended at their comments or surprised at this playful side of Sherlock. Not even he, nor Mycroft, ever made him open up this much.

Sherlock eyed his flatmate over his teacup. The corner of his mouth quirked up and he gave a small chuckle.

“What?” asked the woman. She leaned up and looked where her cousin was staring. It caused her to giggle again.

John’s face was an open book of emotions as the thoughts rolled through his head. Finally, with an indignant grunt, he got up and stalked towards the door.

Just as he reached for the doorknob, Samantha said, “If you’re going to disappear, I suggest you go to your room instead of going out.”

He whirled around, angry. “And why would I do that?”

“Well, for one, it’s going to start raining soon. Hard. I’ve been expecting a storm all day.” She looked out the window expectantly. A millisecond later, there was a flash of lightning and a roll of thunder. The woman turned back to the doctor and smiled. “And for two, well, just turn around.”

John turned, only to find his nose nearly pressed into the tie pin on the chest of Mycroft Holmes. He looked up.

“Greetings, John. May I come in?” The diplomat gave a small smile as his umbrella dripped onto the floor.

“Sure. Fine.” The doctor stormed up the stairs to his room and slammed the door.

“Sherly, any food left?”

The detective nodded and waved towards the kitchen.

Samantha got up and gave her elder cousin a kiss on the cheek before heading to the kitchen. “Have a seat, Mikey. You look like you need it.”

He sighed, slumping his shoulders. “You have no idea.”

“That much of a handful tonight, was he?” She came back carrying a steaming bowl of noodles and meat and a cup of tea.

The diplomat accepted it gratefully, but elected to seat himself on the sofa instead of the floor. “He’s always a handful. But, I guess, that’s one of the things that I love most about him. Uniquely independent. Like us, I suppose.”

“Indeed. You look positively disheveled, compared to usual.” Sam sat down next to Sherlock and took her bowl.

“Is it that bad?” He took a sip of tea, forgoing the food for now.

Sherlock nodded. “Your hair is out of place above your left ear, your tie pin is off-center, and there’s wrinkles in your suit jacket. Judging by the state of your umbrella, I’d say you walked here.”

The elder Holmes nodded. “I did. I needed a cigarette and I prefer not to smoke in the car. Plus, it’s not like the flat is that far.”

“I’m sure you did,” commented the woman. “How bad was it this time?”

He sighed. “Not even that bad. He came home from work and apparently the paperwork on that last case is too tricky to handle without giving _some_ credit to Sherlock.”

The younger Holmes hung his head sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Mycroft waved him off. “It’s fine. It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before. He’ll figure it out. No, it was Sergeant Donovan today. I swear, she’s a right pain in my arse.”

“Not just your’s,” commented Sherlock.

“Well, apparently Gregory’s too. Whenever she nags him about this or that or, especially, you, dear brother, he comes home aggravated and about to pop his top.”

“Let me guess, he popped,” put in Samantha.

The older man nodded. “Yes, he did. I did everything I usually do. Make him a cup of tea and have dinner ready, make sure his dressing gown is clean and the flat is tidy. I don’t know what I did.” He put down his tea and curled his fingers in front of his face, thinking.

“Ah, he’s a right tosspot, and you know it, Mycroft. He’s been grouchy since he tried quitting smoking again.” Sherlock glared at his brother.

“Sherlock,” scolded Sam, “that’s not a very nice thing to say about one of your best friends.”

“No, no, he’s got a point, Samantha. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to locate the kind of nicotine patches he likes.”

“Well, that could be it then, Mikey. He’s just going through withdrawals. As if you two haven’t either.” She tossed him the pack of cigarettes she’d found earlier. He took one and walked over to the window, staring at it.

“Not sure, Mike?” asked Sam.

He frowned. “No, I’m not. I don’t think I really need this, though my remaining cravings tell me I do.” He sighed.

“You two have got something on your minds besides work and smoking, don’t you Mycroft,” put in the younger Holmes.

“Yes, we do. I know he’s been thinking it, too, but is it worth the risk?” Mycroft looked down at his left hand, flexing it. He sighed again.

“Have you guys talked about it?” Sam stared up at her older cousin.

He shook his head. “No. Neither of us know if it’s the best thing. Our careers, you know.”

Samantha and Sherlock both nodded.

The woman stood up, only coming up to her cousin’s nose. “Mycroft, if you think you should, you know the family will be happy for you.”

Mycroft’s blue eyes drifted away from his cousin’s brown ones to his brother’s blue-green ones. “Sherlock?”

The younger man sighed before getting up and joining them. “You know I’m no good at this, Mycroft. I understand the reasoning behind not wanting to. There’s no guarantee that either of you will ever be safe. Always on the run from enemies of the other. I know. You know I have to deal with the same thing, though not on the same scale. I know there won’t be entire nations going after John just to get at me.” He laid a hand gently on his brother’s shoulder. “But I think, if you believe it’s right, then you should at least try. I know you both. You may say ‘uniquely independent’ but I think ‘stubborn’ is better. At least one of you should get your head out of your arse and deal with the problem.”

Samantha hugged the older man. “At least go talk to him, Mikey. Apologize if you have to, even if nothing is your fault. He’ll come round. Maybe call Auntie? She might have something to help you out.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Oh yes, I’m definitely going to go to my own mother for relationship advice.”

She giggled and let him go. “Flowers?”

He nodded. “Yes, that would probably help. Though, I can’t see him actually enjoying them.”

“Everyone loves flowers, Mikey. You just gotta know which ones.” She smiled and winked cockily. If John had seen it, he would have noticed the resemblance to Sherlock.

Samantha pulled out her phone, and punched in a few things. “There, I suggest you go shopping for a bit, then return to the flat. Talk to him, Mikey. He’s not as angry as he seems.”

The eldest man gave a great huff. “Thank you, Sammy.” He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “And you Sherlock, for understanding.”

They both nodded.

“Go on. Off with you, and text me the results.” Samantha pushed her cousin out the door, making him laugh. He handed back the pack of cigarettes before exiting the flat, but he kept hold of the one he had taken. He was going to need it.

Sherlock looked out the window as, a moment later, a black car drove up to the curb and took his brother away.

“Your turn.” Sam put her hands on her hips and smiled up at Sherlock.

“What?”

“You heard me. Your turn.” She strode up to him and put her arms around his waist. His arms slipped around her shoulders in return.

Sherlock looked over to the stairwell leading to John’s room. He swallowed nervously.

“Don’t make me say it, Sherlock.”

His eyes snapped down to her, suddenly annoyed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“You know I would.” She smiled cockily at him.

“Sam, I…” Sherlock looked upset, and a little scared.

“Hey,” she moved her hands up to cradle his jaw. “You need to.” She pulled him down into a languid kiss. The kind they hadn’t shared in years. For obvious reasons.

They let go, foreheads pressed together.

“Go to him. You need to sort this out.”

“What about you?” He ran his long fingers through her sandy hair.

“Oh, William,” she chuckled softly and shook her head. “You know me.” She gave him a smile, though he saw the sadness in her eyes.

He sighed and kissed her forehead. “Yes, I know.”

Sherlock released the woman and headed up the stairs. At the top, he leaned against the wall and knocked softly on the door. “John. John, please open up. I know you’re awake.” He paused, listening. A soft rustling told him that the doctor had sat up in his bed and closed his book. John always read when he was upset. Sherlock continued. “John, please. I’m sorry for what happened downstairs. We didn’t mean to make fun of you, really.”

After a moment, the short man opened the door and looked up into the eyes of his flatmate. He let out a deep breath. “I know. I overreacted. I’m sorry.”

Sherlock smiled.

“But why were you trying to make me agree with all those things concerning you, like your arse, and your purple shirt, and calling me cute when you were still high? Are you trying to flirt with me or something?”

The detective gave a small chuckle. “Or something.” He took a step towards the shorter man. “John, do you really not know how I feel about you?”

John rubbed his face with one hand. “Of course I do, Sherlock. Even when you are being your annoying dick self, you’re painfully obvious.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” He laid his hands on the older man’s shoulders.

“Why didn’t you?” The blue-gray eyes went up to meet the blue-green.

“I am now.”

John sighed. “Yes. I suppose you are.”

Sherlock gave John a longing stare for a moment before leaning in and softly pressing his lips against the other man’s. It wasn’t much. Just a touch. The taller man pulled away far earlier than he wanted to.

Earlier than John wanted to, too. He licked and rubbed his lips together, his brow furrowing over his closed eyes. “Why do you taste like vanilla?”

Sherlock’s face flushed. _He had to bring this up now?_ He didn’t want to answer, but the other man was gazing expectantly at him. He looked down at his feet. “Oh, um… It – It was Samantha.”

John was shocked. “You kissed her?”

He looked away, turning on the spot and sitting down on the top step. “It’s complicated.”

John sat down next to him. “Tell me.” _Maybe learning how his heart works will help me sort out mine._

Sherlock wouldn’t look at the other man. “When,” he started. “When we were kids, Mycroft and I, well, he would pick on me, calling me dumb, even though my deductive skills were almost as sharp as his, even with the age difference between us. For a long time, we believed it, that he was smart and I was dumb.

“Then we started going to school. Up until that point, we had been privately tutored, so it was a new experience for Mycroft as well. We tried to make friends, but our intelligence, well, let’s just say that I wasn’t as dumb as either of us thought. It became difficult, and though Mycroft was able to deal with it, him entering his teenage years at that point, I wasn’t old enough to understand.

“Then one day, I was in the schoolyard, watching a family of birds, alone. I was always alone.” John reached out and took his hand, holding it gently. Sherlock gave a small squeeze. “Then a voice spoke up beside me. It was a girl, and she began deducing the other kids on the playground. I couldn’t believe it. Someone else like me? I may not have been to the age where I started becoming interested in significant others, but it was like we clicked in some special way.

“She watched me, her eyes mirroring the same concern I’d had for myself around the other children. I smiled, and continued on the deductions. She smiled back, and took my hand, and we would play together like that.”

“It sounds nice, to have found a friend you could relate to.” John’s thumb stroked the back of Sherlock’s hand.

“It was. We grew fonder of each other all the time. After quite a few years of attending the same boarding school, we decided to deepen our relationship. But it wasn’t until one day when Mycroft came to pick me up for a break… He was looking for me, but I was ignoring him…” He choked. “Mycroft found us out behind the maintenance shed, making out.

“He yanked me away from Samantha and slapped me, hard enough to make me fall. I asked him what was wrong but he just stood there, fuming. Samantha tried to ask, to help, but he just held up a hand, silencing her.

“After a moment, he sent her off and dragged me to the car. It was only then that he told me she was our cousin.” He turned to look towards John. “I know what you’re going to ask. ‘How did I not know she was my cousin?’ Well, I wasn’t aware we had any cousins. Mummy and Auntie don’t exactly get along, and as far as we knew, Auntie Benton had immigrated to the United States. It had happened long before even Mycroft was born. Apparently Auntie wanted to have her daughter have a proper British education like she had, but we weren’t aware that it was her.

“Mycroft, being the young man that he was, had been an office aide, and whilst working on a genealogy project, he dug into our records and found out about Samantha.

“No one knew I’d had a girlfriend of course, I’m not the type for public displays of affection, as you well know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings. And it just made it that much worse when Mycroft found us.”

Sherlock took a deep, shaky breath before continuing. “I tried to forget about it, I really did. Sam and I even talked it over when we got back to school. We couldn’t see any other way than to just pretend it never happened. But we couldn’t. You never truly get over the ones you love, John. Not your first love.”

John nodded, understanding.

“But how would you feel, knowing what you were doing was wrong, and continuing anyway?” Sherlock squeezed John’s hand. “Mycroft caught us again, a few months later. We went to the annual school Christmas ball together, not as dates of course, just as friends, but by the end of the night, we might as well have been dates.

“My brother was irate. This time he actually punched me, and slapped her. I didn’t stand for that, so I hit him back. After a good row between us, he swore he wouldn’t tell anyone if we cut it off right then and there. If he ever caught us again, he’d tell Mummy.”

“But he did catch you, didn’t he?”

Sherlock nodded. “We tried so hard, John. We really did. For nearly two years, we would only casually greet one another. Like she said, she was a couple years younger than me, so we never had classes together, so we didn’t have to worry about that.

“Then there was a party. I had two years left of school. She had four. For some reason, though we were still considered outsiders, what few friends we did have invited us. No one knew we were related, even to that point, and a lot of our friends worked hard to get us together. Needless to say, too much alcohol was involved.

“Mycroft was there, chaperoning, making sure the police didn’t need called. He was already working for the school at the time, though no one knew. The other students just considered him one of the older guys there preparing for Uni. Someone must have got his attention, or something, but he opened a closet to find Samantha and myself in a compromising position.”

“You weren’t having sex with her, were you?” John seemed almost sick.

Sherlock shook his head. “No. We knew that was beyond wrong. We wouldn’t have sex, but that didn’t change the way we felt about each other.”

The doctor just nodded.

“Anyway, Mycroft walked in on us. I’d never seen him more furious. To this day, I still haven’t. He slammed the door on us and walked away.

“The next day, Samantha was pulled from school and sent back to the United States. Mother was horrified. She may not have gotten along with her sister, but this… Let’s just say, the scandal never left the family. Until now.” Sherlock finally met John’s eyes.

The doctor went through a range of emotions, not for the second time that night. His eyes clouded over with his thoughts. But there still was one question. “What does you getting high have to do with her?”

Sherlock took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes, that. Well, it was several years later. Since she’d left, I’d become very lonely, and I got low. Nothing interested me anymore, and I’d turned to drugs to keep my mind busy. Cocaine seemed to work the best, so it became my go-to.

“One night, there was a drugs bust. I, and several others, were hauled away by the police. As I sat in the interrogation room, a couple of officers, and a young intern reporter came in to speak with me. I was still pretty high at the time, so it didn’t register until later that the reporter was Samantha.

“Neither of us knew what to do. She ran away before I got the chance to speak to her, and before Mycroft bailed me out. I never said anything. My brother would have had a fit.

“Finally, I managed to track her down. I wanted to speak with her, I really did, but I was scared. So, after a couple weeks of being clean, I got high again. My nerves couldn’t take it anymore. I accidentally overdosed. Instead of 999, I called her. She found me and took me to the hospital. She stayed by my bedside the whole time. Mycroft even came in, from what he told me, and found her there. Apparently, they’d both gotten over everything in their worry for me. Ever since then, I’ve contacted her in some way every time I’ve gotten high.”

“And how many times have you gotten high since you met me?’ John was truly concerned now. He didn’t know how bad it was going to be.

Sherlock gave a shrug. “A few times. It was usually when you weren’t in town, though.”

“I see.” He shifted, looking down at his feet. “And Mycroft, downstairs. Is he okay with the relationship between you and Samantha now?”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, we have given up on it long ago. This is really only when we contact each other anymore. But we were who he turned to when he came out as gay. He figured, if there was going to be another scandal in the family, only the other outcasts should know. Though, I daresay, in comparison, Mummy wouldn’t mind as much.”

John nodded, agreeing. “So everything’s good between you three. It’s comfortable. You’ve all grown up.”

“Yes, we have.”

“And you still love her.”

“Yes, I do.”

“But what about Irene Adler. You’d obviously had a thing for her as well.”

Sherlock held on to John with both hands now. “Yes, I did. Can you blame me? She was intelligent. The only woman to ever beat me.” He smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

“And you didn’t pursue her because?”

“Because of the way we met, and her profession. I’m not really into sex, John. Too many corpses in my lifetime. I can’t exactly go there,” he pointed to his head and frowned. “And it seemed the only thing she was truly interested in.”

John frowned and cleared his throat. “It seems you’re attracted to things you know you can’t have.”

Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes. “Yes, I’d come to that conclusion myself. Which is why I haven’t said anything to you.”

“And what makes you think you couldn’t have me?” The doctor gave a small smile.

“Oh, come on, John. With how much you protest the idea of us being together, and your constant “I am not gay”, well, obviously, we couldn’t be together, so I didn’t mention it.”

John sighed, thinking. “Sherlock. No, I’m not gay. Never have been. But there’s something about you. I don’t know if it’s my PTSD; memories of the brotherhood I shared with my fellow soldiers. I seem to have found a parallel in you, something to help me overcome my trust issues. Really, you’re the only person I truly trust, and that’s the root of any relationship, platonic or otherwise.” John smiled and jostled the taller man with his shoulder. “And you’re right. That purple shirt paired with that little arse of your’s in suit trousers, it’s very hard to resist.”

They both laughed at this.

“And you pulling rank to get your way, that’s pretty hard to resist, too. Every time you do it, I just want to pin you to the wall, right then and there, and damn anyone who dares to look.”

John smiled and moved his hands to wrap around the detective’s torso. Sherlock returned the hug by draping his arms around the doctor’s shoulders and pulling him close.

“But of all the people I’ve ever cared for, John, I love you the most,” Sherlock whispered.

“I love you, too, you idiot.”

When Sherlock had gone upstairs, Samantha had quietly left. The drive back home was silent, and it was very early in the morning by the time she climbed into bed.

She was woken up around ten o’clock by her phone going off, twice. Both texts read:

_He said, “Yes”!_

Samantha smiled to herself, happy for her cousins.

She was hired to be the florist for both of their weddings.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know it's weird having them be cousins, but considering there are Mylock and Wincest shippers out there, maybe not so weird? I don't know. It's rough, I know, but some feedback would be nice. Thank you for reading.


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